Unconditional

“Nothing, honey,” Garrett calls up to her. “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s cold.” The woman pouts suggestively. “I need you to come keep me warm.”

Real classy.

I roll my eyes, watching as Garrett flashes her one of his easy grins. “I’ll be right up, sugar. And then I want my T-shirt back.”

“Come and get it.” The woman giggles, then disappears back to the bedroom, leaving us alone in the foyer again.

“Honey?” I challenge him. “Sugar? Why not just admit you don’t even know her name?”

Garrett smirks at me. “Sure I do. It’s Lauren, or Laurie. Or maybe it was Lorna…” He frowns, pretending to think, and even though I know he’s just doing it to get a rise out of me, I can’t help but make a dismissive snort.

“Must be true love.”

Garrett narrows his eyes. “What I do with my life is none of your goddamn business. So why don’t you quit bitching and let me get back to sleep.”

I blink, thrown by the sudden change in his tone. “I’m not the one standing around giving me a hard time,” I retort. “I’d be asleep by now if you hadn’t come prowling around, trying to play hero.”

“Whatever you say, darlin’.” Garrett turns away and starts climbing the stairs. Then he pauses, turning back to me with a wicked grin, and says, “But you might want to wear earplugs. Lorna likes it loud.”

He’s gone before I can reply, the bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

Frustration pumps through my bloodstream, hot and restless. Of all the arrogant, unhelpful, infuriating guys....!

But I shouldn’t be surprised. Garrett knows just how to push my buttons, and God help me if I didn’t just fall for it all over again. I should have known better than to expect an easy break from him after what happened at Christmas, the first time we met—and what I hoped to hell would be the last.

It’s five degrees and snowing out, but I’ve never seen Juliet look more beautiful than as she walks down the aisle and exchanges vows with the man she loves.

I thought she was crazy for getting married like this, in the middle of the backyard in the dregs of winter. Who wants their guests bundled up in ski jackets and parkas? What about her hair and makeup? And then to have the reception here, in the faded old beach house…I joked with my friends for months about the ‘rustic’ plans, but seeing the look on her fiancé Emerson’s face as she slides the ring onto his finger, I finally understand.

Just for a moment, my mystery of a sister is easy to read: her face glowing and breathless, radiating joy. She doesn’t care about the weather, or the flowers, or even the soaking hem of her pretty white gown. This is all she wants, just him, right here.

He’s everything to her.

I feel an unfamiliar ache stab through my chest, like something has splintered wide open inside me. I fight to swallow it back, but it’s too much, even for me to hold onto. The deepest secret longing I never let see the light.

I shiver, not just from the cold. This is love, real love, right here in front of me. Not a figment or a fairytale, like I tell myself on those long, dark nights. But two people, bound together by something bigger than themselves. Swearing to be there, through everything. Vowing to always be true.

She has the one thing I never will.

The ceremony is over. The rest of the crowd erupts into happy applause, crowding round to congratulate them, but I feel the sting of tears in my throat instead. I turn, melting away into the trees on the edge of the backyard, stumbling through the snow until I’m out of sight, hidden behind the old woodshed studio.

I sink back against the wall, hugging my arms around myself and staring out at the pale snow-swept beach and the flint-gray waves, foaming up against the shore.

Get a grip, Carina, I tell myself harshly. Like you’d want to trade places with her, marrying some bad boy bartender with barely two cents to his name.

I feel tears sting at the corner of my eyes, so I force myself to count my blessings, holding each one bright in my mind like a rosary bead. I have a beautiful home full of pretty things; a successful job; a calendar bursting with exclusive social events; and a fiancé on his way to becoming the next partner at his top-flight investment bank. When I marry him next summer, it’ll be the event of the season: black-tie, catered, exclusive, everything that this backyard hoe-down isn’t. We’ll have the perfect family, the kind you see in holiday cards: smiling and red-cheeked, and happy enough to erase the memories of my past.

You forgot “loving,” the voice corrects me, taunting. Your marriage won’t have an ounce of the devotion Juliet and Emerson share.

I shiver again. I didn’t have a coat that matched my outfit, so I’m stuck in a thin cardigan instead. It’s no protection at all against the winds that whistle in off the ocean, biting and harsh, but I can’t bring myself to go inside just yet—to paste on a bright smile and make happy small talk with the rest of them, when on the inside I feel like my heart just broke all over again.

“Hello?”

I startle. A voice comes from the backyard. I don’t reply, hoping he just goes away, but instead, the voice moves closer.

“Anyone there?”

Damn. Quickly, I wipe away my tears and fumble around in my small clutch purse for my phone, so that when the strange man emerges around the back of the shed, it looks like I’ve just crept away for a private place to take a call.